


Find My Own Way

by Insomnia_Productions



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series), Coraline (2009)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Feat Mr Honeynuts, Gen, Sad Max, because i'm trash, honestly all I wanted was for my baby to be happy, seriously you won't find any of those heartwarming family feels from the original here, yet here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 23:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13798932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_Productions/pseuds/Insomnia_Productions
Summary: It wasn’t, at this point, a question of which world he’d rather live in. He knew the answer already.//Moving can be difficult for a child, but Max doesn't particularly care. After all, nothing has changed - he still has no friends, he's still living on microwaveable food, and his parents are still ignoring his existence. Life goes on.But then he finds a door, and through it a world where everything is perfect. A world he can live in forever. All he has to do is say yes.





	Find My Own Way

_ Max looked at the buttons. They were green, the same vibrant green of his eyes, and he liked them as much as he would admit to liking anything. He lifted one from the box and held it up to the window, fitting it over the moon. It was midday, but the sun never shone here. _

 

//

 

The first time Max visits is a Tuesday. In the middle of the afternoon, David comes knocking at the door for him. When no one answers, he moves to the windows. Max crouches under the one he’s knocking at and pulls his hoodie over his ears, growling under his breath. He wonders if David knows how much like a kidnapper he sounds—but, no, the owner of the apartment complex is too naive for the thought to have crossed his mind. 

 

Max launches himself up after a few minutes of this, and flings the window open to find himself inches away from what appears to be a miniature doll of himself. From the blue hoodie to the dark, curly hair, it’s almost an exact replica.  

 

“What the  _ fuck _ , David?” 

 

“Good morning to you, too, Max. I found this in my basement,” David says cheerily, shoving the doll into Max’s hands. “And it happened to look just like you! Isn’t that unbelievable?”

 

“Yes,” Max says, and slams the window shut. 

 

Still, he carries the doll around with him as he explores the house. Together, they take note of the leaky taps, the rotting floorboards, and the tiny door behind the wallpaper, with its strange black key. 

 

In the night, he heats up the microwaveables he stole from the gas station on the drive here, and eats alone in his room. He waits until the muted sound of arguing in the room down the hall dies down, and then slips his hoodie on and wanders down the stairs. There’s no point, he’s learned, in trying to fall asleep before exhaustion takes him. 

 

On this night, however, Tuesday night, something pulls him from the route he developed when they first moved in on Sunday. A glow, blue and purple light, slinking around the corner. Max peers cautiously into the room. It’s the door—the small one behind the wallpaper. He opens it, shrugs, and enters. 

 

On the other side of the tunnel is the same room he left, but clean and neat and cozy. The scent of pizza draws him to the kitchen, and he enters to see his mother for the first time in three days. 

 

Only, when she turns around, her eyes are two black buttons. 

  
  


//

 

_ The moonlight hit his eye. Max returned the button to its place. He set the box on the bedside table, under the little green nightlight, and tilted back until he fell against the pillows.  _

 

//

 

She tells him that she’s his  _ Other _ Mother, that everyone has one. That sounds like kidnapper talk to Max, but ordinary kidnappers don't have magical tunnels and buttons for eyes, so he doesn’t question it. Instead he goes to fetch his Other Father, as finds him in the study, strumming a guitar. The tune he’s strumming is  _ happy birthday _ . 

 

It was Max’s tenth birthday on Monday, but his parents were gone before he woke, and didn’t return until after he fell asleep. Not that they would have remembered, anyway. 

 

His Other Father apologizes for being late to wish him, and sings  _ happy birthday  _ along with his strumming. At the end, he winks and hands Max a box, to open in the morning. Max doesn’t know what to say, so he tells his Other Father that dinner is ready. 

 

They eat together, as a family. Pepperoni pizza. Once they’re all done, his Other Mother sets a chocolate cake down in front of him. The icing reads,  _ welcome home _ . His Other Mother drums her fingers on the table as he eats, and both of them tuck him into a warm bed afterwards, along with the box. 

 

_ What about my other house _ , he wants to ask, but sleep claims him before he can open his mouth. The bed here is so soft. 

 

In the morning, he wakes up on a hard mattress, staring at a ceiling riddled with familiar cracks. He’s in his real house. But the box is here, too. 

 

Inside, Max finds Mr Honeynuts. But not the old, coffee-stained bear with the missing eye and torn-off limb, and the suspicious stench of something foul. This is a new bear, soft, with clean fur and all limbs intact. Max buries his face in it, breathing in the scent of laundry. 

 

_ Welcome home _ , the cake said. 

 

//

 

_ There was something unsettling about the buttons. Maybe because it couldn’t possibly not hurt. Maybe it just seemed too unnatural. Max closed his eyes and imagined looking in the mirror, seeing two unblinking buttons looking back. It wasn’t too bad. He thought of the doll. The eyes were the only difference between him and it.  _

 

//

 

The second time Max visits is a relief. 

 

When Max walks into the kitchen at noon, he sees his father sitting at the table, mug in hand. 

 

“Morning,” his father says gruffly, gazing blankly into his mug. It doesn’t smell like coffee. 

 

This is a first. Max doesn’t respond. 

 

His father remains silent as Max goes about his business. The whirring of the coffee machine is the only sound. Max flees the moment his cup is filled. His father remains in the kitchen all day. It’s unusual, and Max doesn’t dare leave his room out of some unidentifiable fear. He skips lunch. 

 

Finally, in the late evening,  he hears heavy, sluggish footsteps. The door slams, and then the car starts. Max waits a beat before all but throwing himself down the stairs. He flings the tiny door open and escapes to his other life. He’s starving. 

 

Before dinner, His Other Father gives him a snack and offers to show him the garden. Max doesn’t like the outdoors, but even he has to admit that it’s beautiful. Lemongrass bends his way and snapdragons peck at his heels. The cobblestones wobble and moss creeps along the stone bridge. The dandelions are the pride of the garden: a small field of wishes. Max doesn’t believe in wishes, but a frog just winked at him so he takes the offered plant, closes his eyes, and blows the fluffy seeds away. 

 

His Other Father takes him into the air on the back of a contraption that by all accounts should not be able to fly. From above, the garden looks like a minimalist painting of Max’s face. That’s a little creepy, but he appreciates the gesture. 

 

Dinner is mattar paneer. It’s been years since Max has had Indian food. Or any food that wasn’t stolen and microwaveable, really. It tastes good, like summer afternoons in a bustling home. 

 

After they eat, his Other Mother tells him about the show. Max is dubious. As far as he knows, platypuses can’t dance or do tricks, and that Campbell guy upstairs seems more like a conman than an animal trainer. He doesn’t want to get his organs harvested. His Other Mother laughs. He’s underestimating their neighbor, she says, but not to worry. Of course she isn’t sending him up there alone—what kind of mother would? Max has an answer. He bites his tongue. 

 

His companion arrives shortly after and Max suppresses a scream. But David only smiles at him, where normally he would start babbling, and Max’s Other Mother says that she  _ fixed _ him. It’s slightly unsettling. Max considers asking her to  _ unfix  _ him, but decides that a silent David is a superior David. Together, they walk up the stairs to see The Campbell Show. 

 

An hour later, Max hurtles down the stairs, high on candyfloss and laughter, to tell his parents all about it. He’s still babbling when they put him to bed. He falls asleep grinning. 

 

When he wakes up in the normal world, Max throws his broken nightlight at the wall. 

 

//

 

_ It wasn’t, at this point, a question of which world he’d rather live in. He knew the answer already. It was just that the price was buttons. There seemed to be something deeply, fundamentally wrong about the pair of tiny buttons on his nightstand, no matter that he liked their color. Eyes were the windows to the soul, it was said, but buttons were dark and opaque. There was no warmth in his Other Parents’ buttons, no emotion. But then, was that much different from his normal parents?  _

 

//

 

The third time he visits, it is still morning. 

 

Max steps outside and sees the crazy meth lady from downstairs— _ Garden Mother _ , she calls herself. 

 

“Why, hello, Matt,” she calls. 

 

Max turns and walks back inside. 

 

Lunch is—gasp—microwaveables. Max stares at the packet in disgust, one hand idly twirling the key in his pocket. He has an idea. 

 

The tunnel appears when he opens the door, glowing as bright as ever in spite of the sunlight, and Max breathes a sigh of relief. He crawls in, already smelling hints of barbecue. His Other Parents aren’t around, but there’s an invitation to the meth lady’s house. Max is skeptical, but curiosity overpowers caution and he heads down. Better David is waiting at the foot of the stairs. They enter together. 

 

Max doesn’t want to imagine what the early stages of practice must have looked like, but even he has to admit that watching the girls twirl and curtesy their way across a thin plank over a vat of acid, with spiked balls swinging by the whole time—well, that’s impressive. The rest of the acts are just as fun. And the homemade cookies certainly don’t hurt. 

 

They’re waiting when he stumbles home, pockets stuffed with free cookies. His Other Mother sits patiently until he’s emptied them all into a plate before making the offer. 

 

He can live here forever, she tells him, sliding a small box across the table. There’s only one thing they have to do first. 

 

//

 

_ This ceiling had cracks, too, Max realized after staring up at it for several minutes. They were small, barely noticeable, but they were there. It made him smile. The room seemed more real, that way. Max turned his head. The buttons, in their box, were still on the nightstand. The new Mr Honeynuts, once seated upright, had fallen over the box.  _

 

_ Max picked him up and watched his buttons glint as they caught the light. He could almost imagine that the bear was grinning at him, button eyes twinkling. The old Mr Honeynuts’ eyes had never twinkled. He had been bought third-hand for Max’s first birthday, his single eye already scratched and dull. But Max had loved him, because that old bear was all he had from his other parents. All, he knew, he would ever have.  _

 

_ Max sat up and lifted the box. A light coat of dust had already settled over it. Max brushed his fingers over the top, displacing the dust, and opened the lid. The buttons really were quite beautiful.  _

 

_ He stood from the bed, pulled on his hoodie, and walked downstairs to inform his parents of his decision.  _

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE!! 
> 
> Oh_Well slash @sweetsartsandmemes made this AMAZING FANART of ghost!max meeting Coraline - check it out here
> 
> https://sweetsartsandmemes.tumblr.com/post/171320769847/anotherannoyingnerd-i-did-it-3-honestly-tho
> 
> im sorry 
> 
> If you've come from my Tumblr, you know I had three possible endings planned for this... surprise... I chose the worst one... 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ~~I swear I actually love max~~
> 
>  
> 
> but can I just take a moment to say how _freaking hyped_ I am that Max is _canonically Indian-origin?_ And, even better, Indian-origin but _raised elsewhere??_
> 
> As someone with the same background, I'm really excited to have some representation. And, for once, someone who isn't the Weird IT Guy or, god forbid, another Raj from the Big Bang theory *shudder* 
> 
> Anyway I love Camp Camp, and I've always loved Coraline, so I'm quite satisfied that my first fic for CC could also be my first fic for Coraline. 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you liked it, and, hey, if you did - maybe drop me a comment! Thanks for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fairy Tales (Are More Than True)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417531) by [A_Romantic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Romantic/pseuds/A_Romantic)




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